


Baby, You Can Drive my Car

by tisfan



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Boys Kissing, Collars, Dom/sub Play, Flogging, Flying Cars, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Quote: Tahiti is a Magical Place, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Spitroasting, Under-negotiated Kink, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Clint and Tony are going to go on vacation with their boyfriend, Phil Coulson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ParkerStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParkerStark/gifts).



> Commissioned fic for Darkly_stark

The deep yellow car was an antique, but for all that, it zipped down the road at a speed much belied by its older lines. A mid-fifties model Chevy, Clint thought. The 1950s cars were some of the most classic, powerful and unsafe cars ever driven. Which made it perfect for Tony Stark, for whom safety was one of those lines in the sand that he danced over without even thinking about.

He pulled up to the compound and spun out, the car swinging around in a graceful, but nothing-like-careful arc to end up stopped close enough that Clint only had to reach out his hand to grip the door handle.

It had never crossed his mind that Tony might have run him over.

“Get in, loser,” Tony yelled. The window went down automatically; Tony’d been tinkering again. “We’re going to Tahiti.”

“I hear it’s a magical place,” Clint said.

Clint was still conflicted. After almost two years of thinking Coulson was dead, he and Tony doing the best they could to carry on, they’d each gotten an envelope (for Stark, the package had made its way through the convoluted mail room system at Stark Industries and eventually ended up on his desk; for Clint, it had been shoved in an old and seldom used drop box that Clint had checked religiously about once every three or four months just in case.) containing an invitation, a plane ticket, and a third of a torn photograph.

When Coulson had done his big reveal, Tony had actually had to summon the armor and wrap metal arms around Clint to keep him from straight up _murdering_ their lover. Finally, finally, Clint had calmed down enough to sob, clutching at Tony’s metal-covered thighs and his face pressed hard against Tony’s stomach, while Tony patted his hair and glared at Coulson.

Clint waited until Tony rolled up the windows and hit the button that tinted the glass. They’d all learned it; you kept your lovers secret, even from your friends. It was hard, but it was one of the only ways to ensure you wouldn’t be used against someone you cared about -- or that they wouldn’t be used against _you_.

But as soon as the glass went dark, Clint was practically climbing into the driver’s seat; Tony barely had time to put the Bel-aire in park before Clint’s tongue was in Tony’s mouth, his hands in Tony’s hair. It was straight up torture that he had to see Tony almost every day and couldn’t touch him most of the time. Had to watch, heart in his throat, every time Iron Man zipped into combat and not even be able to scream when Tony did something stupid (which he did every damn week, it seemed like!). Hell, even Cap showed more concern and affection, in public.

There were dozens of things that Clint would have given as a list of why dating Tony Stark was a bad idea. The way he kissed was exactly none of them.

Tony kissed like you were the most important person in the world. Like he would die without your taste in his mouth. He clung to Clint with both hands, one ‘round his waist, fingers teasing at the skin at the small of Clint’s back, the other sliding up to cup the side of Clint’s face. His tongue was light, teasing, coaxing at the seam of Clint’s lips for him to open up, and when Clint did, Tony was generous, sweet, hot. A mix of wanton longing and easy play. Tony’s kisses tasted like his laugh, low and delighted.

“It’s easier to drive if you’re not in my lap, Katniss,” Tony said, finally pulling back. “You don’t want Agent Agent to get worried if we’re late.”

Clint twisted his hips over Tony’s lap, drawing out a low moan; Tony’s erection was pretty obvious, pressed against Clint’s thigh. He sighed and returned to his seat. “Phil would wait, if you wanted me to blow you in the car.”

Tony closed his eyes and groaned, his whole body clenched up for just a second. “That’s just rude,” he said. “Might even qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, and I haven’t even done anything.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” Tony agreed.

Clint buckled in. Tony was a very good driver, but that didn’t mean Clint was planning on taking chances. “Well… if you’re not gonna unzip and whip it out, let’s go!”

Tony pulled his ridiculous flight goggles up from around his neck and settled them over his eyes; Clint was pretty sure Tony had an installed AI and all sorts of flight data on the goggles’ HUD, but also, that he liked them because of the aesthetic. Tony was all about looking cool while being cool. He shifted the Bel-Aire into F and punched the lift. The car growled under them, then hummed, as the repulsor tech activated and the car was up and away in moments.

“Where are we going?” Clint asked. He absolutely wasn’t gripping the oh-shit bar for dear life. His knuckles always looked like that.

“Relax, Robin Hood,” Tony said. “I got this.”

“You can just summon a suit if this flying monstrosity stalls out at ten thousand feet,” Clint pointed out.

“And I’d catch you. I always catch you,” Tony said. He took one hand off the wheel and slid his fingers up Clint’s thigh. “You know, it’s not exactly roadhead, but you could still blow me, if you wanted.”

Clint patted Tony’s hand, loving the way his palm felt against Clint’s leg, and then placed it back on the wheel. “Fly the car, Stark,” he said.

“To answer your question,” Tony said without even missing a beat, “I don’t know. We’re having a mid-flight pick up by the Zephyr, so further than Maybelle here can go on a single tank of fuel, I am guessing. Agent Sexmonster was being all super secretive. I can’t decide if that’s a genetic disorder or just a bad habit.”

Clint’s ears popped, which was uncomfortable behind his hearing aids. “Gonna take a nap,” he said, popping the hearing aids out and dropping them in the cup holder. “Wake me when we get there. Or if anything interesting happens.”

Tony waited until Clint reclined the seat and closed his eyes before running his hand over the front of Clint’s jeans, bringing his dick back into the game with a sudden surge of wanting. Tony might have said something when Clint’s eyes popped open, but he wasn’t facing in the right direction for Clint to read his lips. Just enough to feel the vibration of Tony’s laugh in the air. Clint flipped him off with both hands and then tried to sleep.

***

Clint was surely worn out, Tony thought, as he didn’t even wake when the Zephyr dropped the cargo bay doors and Tony maneuvered in for a docking. His flight skills were all sorts of amazing, but even so, there was a little drop when he turned off the repulsors and let the wheels come down.

On the plus side, it meant they didn’t have the stupid, selfish, childish pushy-shoving contest when Phil came into the hanger about who was going to get to kiss him first.

On the down side, it meant they didn’t have the stupid, selfish, childish pushy-shoving contest when Phil came into the hanger about who was going to get to kiss him first.

“Don’t lean on Lola,” Phil said.

“Lola is practically my sister,” Tony pointed out. “I know her inside and out, I’ve been all under her hood and I’ve had my hands on every inch of her.”

Phil licked his lips, raised his eyebrow in that deadpan manner of his and said, “I don’t know if I’m turned on or disgusted.”

“So, operating true to form, at least,” Tony said. “You gonna stand there until you make up your mind, or are you going to kiss me hello?”

“Are you going to wake up Clint? It’s always good for the old ego, watching two handsome young men fight over me.”

“Stop with the old jokes,” Tony said. He caught Phil’s hand and drew him in. “You’re only six years older than I am, and I’m going to live forever.”

“You know that’s not possible,” Phil said. He ran a finger over the curve of the arc-reactor under Tony’s shirt, where the scar tissue was impossibly sensitive. For years, he hadn’t liked people to touch it, it made him feel vulnerable and scared and weak.

Tony snatched up Phil’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “It’s been true every day that I haven’t died,” Tony pointed out. “And I keep on coming back. _You_ keep on coming back.”

“I think that was a one-off,” Phil said. He leaned in closer and Tony could smell his cologne. That went straight down Tony’s spine to pool liquid fire at his groin. Phil was wearing the ridiculously overpriced Italian cologne Tony had bought him on a whim on their last vacation. The leather musk mixed well with Phil’s skin, delicious. The last time Tony had smelled it, the three of them had been naked together in Tony’s big bed up in the Swiss chalet. Good times, in front of the fire, with snow everywhere and no one for miles.

“ _I’m_ getting older, waiting for this kiss,” Tony pointed out.

“No reason why _you_ can’t kiss me, instead,” Phil said.

Tony laughed, grabbed Phil’s wrist and hauled him in. “Look who’s in my dance space,” he said. He slid Phil’s hand down until his palm was resting against Tony’s ass. Tony knew his own strengths and weaknesses, and his ass was one of his best features. Phil squeezed, and the slotted himself along Tony’s body; the way they fit together like a micro usb cable turned the right way in one shot. So accidentally perfect.

In the end, Tony wasn’t sure who kissed who first. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that Phil Coulson was pressed up against him, wanton and eager and making soft whining noises in the back of his throat and that Tony was the one responsible for it. Phil had always been so uptight, steady, calm in the face of any storm. Well, except for meeting Captain America, and then Phil had turned into an adorable little nerd and Tony would have been seethingly jealous except that… well, okay, so there wasn’t any exceptions to that. Phil’s crush on Cap had just been excruciating, right up until Phil had pressed Tony up against the glass elevator on the outside of Stark tower and blown him where anyone could have seen them.

Speaking of elevators and blowjobs and other essential life-altering things; “Who’s flying the Zephyr?”

“Hi Tony,” a cheerful voice rang out over the intercom. “Me an’ May are going on vacation, too. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t undress my boss where I can see you on the cameras. Just wait, we can all have all the sex we want in like two hours, okay?”

“Well, hello there, Shake n’ Bake,” Tony said, grinning at the nearest camera. “Are you and Agent Mulan finally officially dating?”

“I don’t _date_ , Mr. Stark.” Melina May’s voice was decidedly less cheerful.

“They’re totally dating,” Phil said.

“Oh, hey, nap, no,” Clint protested, stretching and climbing out of the car. “No fair, you got started without me.”

“Phil’s just saving the best for last, Beauregard,” Tony said. “Come over here and get your kisses before I steal them all.”

Phil and Clint crashed together with a certain reckless eagerness that Tony could only envy. Like everything else in his life, the two of them had happened to him by accident. Tony had walked in on them one time, rolling around in his damn shop, with Clint’s pants around one ankle. Phil had been fingerfucking Clint while the archer used his impressive arm-strength to hold himself upright, ass completely off the workbench they were trysting on.

“Woah,” Tony had said, too shocked and unexpectedly turned on to do anything more than stare. “If anyone’s getting their rocks off in my shop, it ought to be me.”

“Well, _somebody_ better fuck me,” Clint had snapped, screwing himself down on Phil’s fingers.

Which was how Tony had found himself with Barton riding his cock and Phil fucking his throat while DUM-E had to be threatened twice about brandishing the fire extinguisher at them. And Tony had been neck-deep in love with both of them before it occurred to either of them to mention to Tony that he was more than just their random sex-toy. That they were all dating. Officially, if on the down low.

Right up until Loki had thrust his staff through Phil’s chest and destroyed what was left of Tony’s heart.

He’d had Clint, though, and while it wasn’t everything, it had been enough.

Tony sometimes felt, though, like it was still a dream. And when it wasn’t a dream, like he was the one on the outside, looking in. He felt that way again, watching Clint and Phil kiss hello. They’d been together for years before Tony had stumbled into their crazy mess of heroics and sex.

“Stop pouting, Tony,” Clint said, bringing him into the embrace. “You know we love you, stop over-thinking it. I can see you getting all self-doubting over there, you know that, right.”

“Just glad to see my boys again,” Tony said, brushing it off and letting them hug him.

Clint’s hand ended up on his ass and Tony was just wiggling up into that touch when Skye came over the intercom again. “No, Coulson,” she said. “Leave the pants on until we hit the ground, or so help me, I will flip the Zephyr upside down and you will not like that.”

“Always listen to the woman holding the stick in her hands,” Melinda May added.

Two hours. Tony glanced from Clint to Phil. They could wait… two hours. Maybe. Probably. “Come on, let’s get out of the hangar, at least. If she’s gonna flip us over, I’d rather not be killed by my dad’s cars.” 


	2. Can't Buy Me Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touching down for vacation, Clint, Tony and Phil have a little negotiating to do...
> 
> With a little three-way bondage/domination play, can Tony earn a present?

Can’t Buy Me Love

Under pain of being spun around like they were in a clothes dryer until they puked, the clothes stayed on. It wasn’t that much of a deprivation; Tony Stark wore expensive suits that were custom-tailored to show off all his assets. And while Tony was a bundle of insecurities and self-loathing, he knew what looked good on him, and he wore it.

Oh, god, how he wore it. Clint would watch that ass all day, if Tony would consent to walking around (up and down stairs would be good) that much just for Clint to watch him.

Instead, Clint flopped down on one of the (screwed down to the floor, like most of the furniture on the bus, so if May flipped them, they’d only have to deal with hitting the roof and the various loose objects in the room raining on them, which would still not be fun, honestly, but probably wouldn’t kill them) couches in the Zephyr’s social room, sprawling over the cushions. He found the remote for the television when Phil took a seat next to him, leaning against Clint’s chest, one arm squishing between his back and the sofa cushions.

Tony, of course, threw himself over both of their laps, wiggled around unnecessarily until he was on his back. “Pay attention to me,” he demanded, all wide brown-puppy eyes and crinkles at the corners.

“There’s perfectly good terrible television to pay attention to,” Clint said, but that didn’t keep him from patting Tony’s leg, reassuringly. “ _Dog Cops_ , for instance.” He started thumbing through the streaming lists; Daisy was pretty good about making sure he had access to his shows. It was part of their mutual covering-for-each-other don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. After Clint had slipped up and May had found out that he was sleeping with Phil, she’d told him about her and Daisy. Because she loved Phil; they were comrades in arms, best friends, platonic soulmates, or whatever, and she wanted Clint to know that 1) she approved and 2) she trusted them and 3) didn’t want that trust to be one-sided.

“So, what’s our cover story this time, Agent Agent?” Tony asked. He was playing with the end of Phil’s tie and Phil was gently detangling his fingers every few minutes and straightening out the tie. It was a losing battle and Clint gave it about ten more minutes before the tie was off and the top few buttons of Phil’s shirt were undone.

Clint always liked it when his boyfriends were in some state of deshabille (ha! Vocabulary word usage for the day!) because it made him feel less… scruffy. There were days that Clint didn’t know how he’d managed to woo and win two of the best-dressed, most put-together, responsible men in the entire world. Because Clint was a human dumpster fire and what’s more, he fucking knew it.

And there went the tie, untied and Tony was using the loop around the back of Phil’s neck to pull him down for a kiss. Clint kept a hand on Tony’s leg, stroking his thigh and making sure his hands didn’t wander too far, because he wasn’t stupid enough to think that Daisy had stopped eyeballing them suspiciously through the cams.

Finally, Tony pulled the tie off completely and was absent-mindedly (or not so absent-mindedly, because he knew what it did to Clint) wrapping it around his wrist.

“Daisy went through the reports on possible Inhuman activity--” Phil held up one hand to push down any protests “-- and selected the one least likely to have any actual Inhuman involved. Which happens to be near Lake Malawi.”

“Africa?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“There’s good scuba there, which May enjoys, and beach and--”

“What’s more,” May piped up over the intercom, “it’s very unlikely to have gotten the fish-capsules that spread the terrigenesis, so running into an actual Inhuman’s a pretty low risk. We’ll have a week’s worth of vacation where no one’s going to ask questions as to why we’re there, or be concerned when we don’t find anything.”

“Beach, great,” Clint said, waving a hand, which accidentally knocked the remote to the floor. “Aw, remote, no.” Which wasn’t so bad, because he had to lean over Tony’s hips in order to get it, and that was just bonus.

By the time they landed, Tony’s jacket was gone, his button-down shirt was open and the arc-reactor was shining through his thin sleeveless undershirt, and Phil’s tie was _ruined_ , knotted around Tony’s wrist and Clint was using it to tug him down the ramp. Phil was barefoot, his jacket slung over one shoulder and he looked like an advertisement for men’s aftershave. He got the bags stacked together neatly, on a rolling cart. Clint probably looked like he didn’t belong, still wearing a purple tee and sweatpants with a broken string, but whatever. Wasn’t like they were going to be wearing clothes for much longer.

“That one’s yours,” May said, pointing to a little cabin just off the beach. “The one with the biggest bed we could book. We’ll be over here. Don’t… bother us for anything less than the end of the world.”

“Or breakfast,” Daisy said. “Waffles. With strawberries and whip cream and --” She didn’t get anything else out before May scooped her up in a fireman’s carry and hauled her off to the other cabin.

Clint almost walked into a tree because he was very busy watching Daisy smack May’s ass several times as they went, and he… well, okay, he loved his boyfriends dearly, but _still…_ he might have to turn in his bisexual card if the idea of Daisy taking May over her knee didn’t get him half-hard.

Phil turned him gently, pointing Clint in the right direction.  

The inside of the cabin was clean, richly decorated, and highly irrelevant, as the first thing Clint did when the door closed behind them was push Phil against the door and kiss him. Clint reeled Tony in by the wrist until Tony was squeezing him from the back and Clint was the creamy center. Tony’s free hand wandered up and down Clint’s back, through the short spike of hair, and finally ended up tucked in Clint’s front pocket. He wasn’t being subtle, either, long fingers moved inside Clint’s pocket to tease and stroke Clint’s rapidly swelling erection.

Tony bit down on Clint’s earlobe, which had Clint moaning into Phil’s mouth. Clint rocked, flexing his hips, Phil’s body heat seeping through his slacks, and those muscles that were so carefully concealed under bland suits provided a perfect cushion to rub against.

“You know,” Phil said when Clint pulled back a bit to breathe (and also to let Tony grind against his ass, because oh, god, that was amazingly hot) “there’s something to the charm of being fucked up against a wall, but it was a long flight and I’d really like to get off my feet.”

Clint took that as a challenge and with a grunt of effort, he lifted Phil up and pushed him even harder against the door, thrusting against Phil’s thigh.

“Not exactly what I had in mind, Barton,” Phil said. His amused chuckle went up several registers; Tony had sucked two of Phil’s fingers into his mouth and was making _that face_. That damn blowjob face that punched Clint in the gut, every single time. Tony’s gorgeous eyes half-lidded and his luscious mouth wrapped around Phil’s fingers, tongue peeking out at the end of the stroke.

“You think I can’t hold you up?” Clint asked.

“I know you can,” Phil said, easily. He writhed a little in Clint’s grip, reminding him -- oh, yeah, that one mission in Mumbai, but that was before Tony. If Clint gave into his primitive urges to show Phil exactly how strong and tough he was, at least in this, that would leave Tony out. Which he never wanted to do, because Tony was _amazing_ in bed, worth every second of it.

Clint put up a show of mock-grumbling, then let Phil slide back to the floor, taking advantage of each sweet inch of friction before Phil had his feet down again.

“Got a present for you, Tony,” Phil said. He turned to their bags and dug around in the pocket of his overnight. The box was simple gray wrapping tied with a silver ribbon. He put it down on the little table right by the door. “If you want it.”

Tony picked up the box, flipping the ribbon out of the way to get to the tape. “Did I do something to deserve a present.”

“Not yet,” Phil said, “but I think you might.”

Clint even knew what was in the box, because he and Phil had been planning it for a while, and he was still practically bouncing to watch Tony open it.

Tony looked into the box; his mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

Phil shrugged, almost nonchalant. “If you want it.” Like it didn’t matter to him, one way or the other.

Tony turned wide eyes on Clint. “You--”

“I knew,” Clint said. Inside, his guts tied themselves in knots. What if they’d completely misread the situation; they’d talked about kinks, engaged in a little casual play, but they hadn’t really moved forward with--

“Oh. Oh.” Tony’s eyes were shimmery, liquid gold and gorgeous. “Yes. Yes, _please_.”

Clint let out the breath he was holding, reached into the box and withdrew the red collar, studded with gold and a few D rings. The tag on it dangled, round and imprinted on one side with “Property of C&C”.

Phil touched Tony’s chin, drew him into a soft kiss. “You want this? You’re sure?”

Tony leaned into the kiss and sighed when Phil let him go. “More than anything.”

“Get on your knees, then, and we’ll put it on you.”

***

Tony was never quite sure when Phil had figured out that Tony had a deep need to be _of use_ to people. He’d kept his various asshole masks on around Agent Agent when they were just working together; but in the end, it had been Phil who’d seen through them to disregard Nat’s recommendation that the Iron Man suit be turned over to someone worthy, had come to Tony with a _we need you_. And his eyes, that had said _I need you_.

Nevermore so was this need greater than when Tony took a lover. For the vast majority of his bed partners, it had only led him so far as to make certain they enjoyed themselves. The word got around that Tony was a considerate and ambitious partner, and people lined up to be his next one night stand. He never wanted to be very vulnerable around those people, and so he’d kept his secrets to himself, indulged himself in vivid fantasies of a lover who would pet and stroke and praise and please him as a reward for Tony’s hard work.

Phil hadn’t taken advantage of it; he was heavy with the praise, both for him, and for Clint, at the end of a rousing bout of sex, and if Tony thrilled to it, he kept it private.

But _god_ , he craved it. No more than a month had passed before he knew for a fact he would do anything Phil asked, just to hear Phil murmur “that’s my good boy” sleepily into Tony’s hair.

They’d just started playing around with light bondage and a bit of domming when the shit with Loki went down; Tony was never certain if it was the arc-reactor that had saved him from Loki’s staff, or if it had been his burning hatred of the man who’d cost him both his lovers.

Tears burned at the back of his throat as he looked at the collar and he sank to his knees, graceful and grateful, so he didn’t have to show his face. On his knees, bent over, forehead practically on the carpet, neck exposed.

Clint made a loud, rumbling sound in his throat, as if the view of Tony subservient was a gift, a thrill, instead of the utter necessity it was for Tony.

Neither of his lovers said anything for a long moment; Tony was more than aware of the weight of their gazes, that there was a fast and furious conversation taking place in raised eyebrows and head tilts above him. That was something that he hadn’t managed yet; Clint and Phil could exchange information without speaking. It made him wonder, sometimes, if they weren’t mutants of some sort. He’d barely mastered figuring out Pepper’s expression when she was furious with him.

Phil twisted into a squat in front of Tony, cupped his chin and lifted his face. “Look at you,” he said. Tony couldn’t help but lean into that touch, the warmth of Phil’s palm against his cheek, the thumb that ran over his jaw. “Very good.”

Clint drew the collar around Tony’s throat, fastened it, while Tony was pinned by Phil’s fae gaze, his almost-but-not-quite hazel eyes intent.

“We’ll try this out for our vacation,” Phil suggested, “and see how it works for all of us. If you’re still good, we can talk about signing a contract?”

Tony nodded.

“Tell me your words, baby, just in case,” Phil encouraged.

Tony rolled his eyes just a little. Did Phil forget that Tony had an eidetic memory? The idea that he would forget his words was ridiculous. He might forget to _use_ them, that had absolutely happened before, but he’d never forget what they were.

“Tesla for good, go,” Tony said, because Phil would give him that disapproving frown if he didn’t say it. “Edison for stop that. Schrödinger for ‘gimme a second.’”

“Very good,” Phil said. “Check in for me. Are you good to wear the collar all day? We’ll take it off at night, while you sleep.”

Tony did roll his eyes at that. “Like I _sleep_ ,” he said. “Telsa. I’m good to give it a whirl.” So, so good.

“I won’t be disappointed in you, if you change your mind, or it’s too much,” Phil said, and Tony ducked his head back down again, so Phil wouldn’t see. It was hard for him, letting his emotions show on his face, but Phil’s kindness wrecked Tony faster than anything.

“I’m fine, sir,” Tony insisted.

“Okay,” Clint said, impatient. “Enough with the mollycoddling. You wanna play now, Tony, or just sort of get adjusted to the idea?”

Phil scowled. “When we said we were going to co-dom, Barton, you agreed--”

“Oh, come on. You know Stark’s motto. Gotta fly before we can crawl. Let’s get to the fun stuff. We can bang out the deets _later_.”

Tony tilted his head to one side, giving Phil a quick wink. “Go easy on him, sir. He’s horny.” Of course Tony wouldn’t say that he agreed with Clint; the world might come to an end if he did that. But he wanted to go ahead and give it a try. He was shivering and eager for whatever plans the two of them had for him. He wet his lips with his tongue, then ventured, “unless you think I don’t deserve it.”

Phil lowered his chin, giving Tony the direct look, the one he often used whenever he thought either Iron Man or Hawkeye were taking unnecessary risks in battle, but that he knew scolding them wouldn’t help.

“All right,” Phil said. He ran his hand through Tony’s hair, pushing it back away from his forehead. “We’ll see if you can earn your present.”

***

Sometimes Phil felt stretched thin between his various neurosis, the demands of his position, the bits and pieces of the men and women under his command -- whose lives and sanity he was responsible for, no matter what Fury had to say about it -- and his own needs.

Spending time with his lovers was like just a dab of jelly to the thick, sticky peanut butter sandwich that was his life.

There were endless nights when he woke up, feeling Loki’s sceptre bursting through his sternum like some awful version of the Alien baby.

Those days when he woke up and couldn’t stop gasping.

Couldn’t stop being infuriated by his team, all of whom took stupid risks. Well, except for Melinda and thank God for Melinda because he didn’t think he’d survive watching Daisy hurt herself one more time. Melinda was even more protective, coming to the rescue like a rabid momma bear with knives and a bad attitude. In his more sentimental moments, Phil thought he and Melinda had raised themselves a fine child. And then Melinda had admitted she’d gone and fallen in love with Daisy, which hurt Phil’s brain for all of about twenty minutes, and then he was more than enthusiastic about the idea, because there was no one who could give not only the shirt off her back, but the skin as well to protect someone she loved.

Because Tahiti was over. Game over, man. What the fuck was he going to do if he lost any of them? There was no going back. Anyone dead was dead and gone, and Phil wanted to spare them that -- and honestly, spare himself that.

The only relief he got, and luckily the buzz of it lasted quite a while before he needed another hit, was in the arms of his lovers.

He and Clint had switched, taking turns, but Clint fought being dommed at every opportunity, everything from actively twisting out of restraints to becoming a passive-aggressive little shit. It satisfied the need, the same way Cheez Whiz satisfied hunger.

Tony, on the other hand…

Tony, who’d practically gone to his knees, eyes shining with gratitude the first time Phil had clapped him on the shoulder and said “Good job.”

Tony surrendering control in the bedroom was like good wine, and a sharp, well-aged cheese with just the right amount of bite to it, little tyrosine deposits that added to the mouthfeel. He was a cuban cigar and the harsh smoky flavor of whiskey.

Phil had been able to resist the urge, flirting a little under the radar, but that was all. Right up until Clint buried his face against Phil’s chest and confessed that he might have been a little too interested in the _Consultant_.

Clint -- well, he was Clint. When he saw something that he wanted, he went for it, no holds barred, take no prisoners. As soon as he’d come to the shocking realization that chasing Tony wasn’t going to cost him Phil, Clint had Tony under him the very next time they’d gotten a little tipsy together. It might not have been the safest, sanest, most consensual way to get the job done, but it’d been done, and that thoroughly. After the whole thing was over and explained and Tony stopped panicking about being tasered, he’d rather thoughtfully had the surveillance tape forwarded to Phil, which left Phil wondering exactly how much JARVIS’s sexual awakening had been caused by Tony letting the AI record and analyze pretty much everything. As far as Phil was concerned, they were all damn lucky that Tony’s fucking _butler_ hadn’t taken over the world.

“Strip. Kneel,” Coulson dictated, pointing to a spot at the foot of the bed. “Stay there, don’t talk.”

Tony didn’t even give him a sir, just snapped up a little straighter, eyes flashing, then obeyed orders. He didn’t tease with the removal of his clothing, which he’d been known to do sometimes. Clint got handsy with him, though, while he was taking off his clothes.

Tony shivered and shuddered and bit down on a groan as Clint wound him up with eager caresses and kisses. Tony went to kneel and Clint got a hand in between Tony’s legs, teasing at his half-erect cock and ass, causing Tony to whine, soft and pleading.

“He didn’t give you permission to moan,” Clint said in Tony’s ear, then bit down on the earlobe. Tony twitched, but he didn’t move or make a sound. “Good boy.” Clint petted down Tony’s spine, curved and lovely as Tony pressed his forehead against the floor.

While Clint worked on trying to make Tony move or moan, teasing touches and flickering licks along the man’s back, sides, and ass, Phil laid out the rest of their equipment. There was a limit to how hard their bondage could be in a rental place, but Phil made do; several long canvas straps that slid under the mattress and a few spreader bars. Blindfold. Clint’s favorite purple and black leather flogger.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Phil said after he had everything arranged. “Hop on up here and tell me which way you want to be spread out.” That was often a critical question, which was why Clint was always the secondary dom. He was good at knowing what Tony wanted, physically, could get the man whimpering and begging for it, but he didn’t have a good grasp on the way Tony’s brilliant mind and terrible self-esteem ganged up on him. Didn’t know how to feed Tony’s brain, which was just as critical, maybe even more so than the actual sex.

“Bent over, sir,” Tony answered, raising his head and climbing onto the bed. He squirmed up until he was mere inches from Phil’s knee and lowered his forehead again, exposing his neck. The fine black curls at the hairline were already damp with sweat, kinked and winding around. Phil ran a hand through Tony’s hair, eliciting a shiver.

Not good; Tony wanting on his knees meant he was presenting his ass for a smack-down. Which Clint would be delighted to give him, but it also meant things weren’t going well in that crazy head of Tony’s. Something had happened; even if it was just a drop in the stock, or a bad blow up at the office; not to mention the other horrible things that seemed to follow the Avengers around.

But Tony wouldn’t talk about it until he was deep in subspace, so Phil rolled up his metaphorical sleeves to get him there. “Yeah, sweetheart, is that what you want? Knees spread and that ass of yours up in the air, just begging for it? You want--” he was petting Tony’s hair the whole time, let his fingers grip a little firmer, pulled that head back to get Tony to look at him. That got him a gasp and a shudder and Phil watched with delight as Tony’s pupils opened up. “--you want to have your mouth and your hole used and let you wait, til you’ve earned the right to come?”

Tony whined, low and needy. “Yes,” he said. He licked his lip, a tantalizing prelude to what Phil knew from experience was a torturously good blow job. “Yes, sir, I… if you want that, if… you think I…”

Phil pressed his mouth together, giving Tony his best stern expression. “If you earn it, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

It took Phil longer to get Tony situated than he would have liked; that was again mostly Clint’s fault. There were a lot of things Phil demanded and expected for Tony to stay still during. A surprise rimming wasn’t one of them. Clint’s tongue went places Tony wasn’t expecting, and instead of kneeling like a good boy, Tony had ended up face-down on the comforter, hips grinding against the blankets while Clint lapped at him. And as glorious as that was to watch, Phil had to assert his dominance again or the whole session was going to go right off the rails. Which would have been fine, and fun, except that Tony would have run through the whole evening in his head, convinced himself that he fucked it up again, and lay awake, staring at the ceiling and feeling bad.

Just to remind Tony (and Clint) who was in charge here, Phil fastened Tony’s ankles to the spreader, a little wider than was actually comfortable while kneeling. If Tony was face down, spread-eagled, it would be good, but as it is, he would get to get a burning ache in his hips trying to stay upright, especially since they didn’t have the wedge for Tony to lean over. That would be good; just the edge of pain was what Tony liked. It’s not like he didn’t get bruised and banged up in pursuit of his damn job.

Hands together, in front of him, so Tony could rest on his elbows; ass up, face down. Clint was humming behind them both, admiring the view and thinking the same thing that Phil was, quite obviously.

“Check in with me,” Phil said, running his fingers lightly over Tony’s wrists. The man had beautiful hands, talented and knowing, rough and callused at the joints. The index finger had a rough spot where Tony was constantly mauling his fingers with his tools, pressing harder than he needed to. Desperate for something to keep him _there_ in the moment.

“Tesla’s still doing his thing,” Tony said, tilting his jaw to one side, that luscious mouth begging for a kiss, so Phil gave him one, licking at Tony’s lips until the man was panting for it, but not pushing. Tony could be pushy, demanding and impatient, but he was already falling, willing to let Phil take care of him. Trusting Phil to get them all where they needed to be.

Phil’s mouth curled up in a half smile, despite himself. The trust Tony gave him, after everything that had gone on, it was humbling.

Time to be worthy of it.

“Tighter, or is this good?” Phil tugged on the rope, nudging Tony into the supplicant position again. Tony shivered, intoxicated by the stretch, the delicate burn in his muscles. Phil knew, because they’d spoken of it, dreamy in post-coital bliss while Tony struggled to put his desires into words and why he liked the things he liked.

“Blindfold, sir?” Tony lifted his jaw, looked around. His eyes were bright and his gaze was hooded, the perfect combination, but he also liked to have his choices narrowed down. When he could see, Tony was constantly seeking the expressions on Clint and Phil’s faces, trying to figure out how best to please, how to get that approval that he desperately needed. Without those clues, he just had to listen, had to take himself out of his own head in order to do what they required of him.

Clint picked up the blindfold with two fingers and flicked it to Phil, his aim as unerring as always. Phil didn’t have to lunge for it, or anything, just held out his hand and it landed there. That sort of accuracy, from Clint, always left Phil’s mouth dry.

Phil got the blind in place, then backed off the bed. He wanted to admire his work, but also, it was part of their game. Not that Tony couldn’t figure out who was who in a few moments, but it also threw him off balance, gave him something else to concentrate on, wondering who was touching him. Tony got so lost in his own head sometimes, Phil wondered if they’d ever dig him all the way out.

Not today, but in the meanwhile, Clint circled, feet noiseless on the floor. He peeled his shirt off and it ended up on the floor. Shoes next, and Phil watched as Clint stripped. Between each article of clothing he pulled off, he stroked Tony’s skin, along his flank, over his ass, down his spine, ran a hand over the man’s calf. Every time he’d move, so Tony never knew where the next touch was coming from, shifted to anticipate, or to draw attention to part of his body that ached for touch.

Phil shed his clothing; touching and exploring Tony’s body as well, until Tony was shifting and squirming under the attention, light and playful and too much and not enough. Phil didn’t let his fingers linger anywhere particular, tracing lines down Tony’s thigh, along the expanse of his ribs, touched and explored each scar.

Clint reached between Tony’s legs, stroked his cock a few times. Smacked his ass when Tony rocked into it. “Did I say you could move?”

“No, sir,” Tony apologized, his back curving even more, presenting that gorgeous ass as both a target for punishment and as a plea for attention.

Clint remembered that he was supposed to check in; Phil was running the show. He lifted the flogger and gave Phil a pair of raised eyebrows. Phil gave him the nod and Clint hefted the handle, swinging experimentally.

Not that the weight of the thing had changed, but Clint was always turned on by the edge of anticipation. It wasn’t hitting the target that was the moment for Clint, it was the pause between ready-aim and fire.

He let the dragging ends of the flogger brush Tony’s thigh, a second of warning before he swung back, snapped the leather out and the ends struck, a double-dozen sharp lashes.

Tony hissed, teeth digging into his lower lip, but Phil had to give him credit, his hips didn’t move at all. “Count!” Clint barked and Tony’s chin dropped a little further.

“One.”

They went to five, until Tony’s ass was pink and a little puffy on one side, before Phil cut it off with a flick of his wrist.

Clint -- being an asshole, because of course he was -- put the flogger down on Tony’s back, awkward and just close enough to rolling off that Tony had to shift to keep it in place, knowing that’s what Clint wanted. “God, look at you,” Clint said, reaching between Tony’s legs again and curling those archer’s fingers around Tony’s cock. “How hard you get for it. Man, feel that, Coulson.”

Phil couldn’t help a smile, but stepped forward and did what Clint was asking for. Between the two of them, one on either side, they stroked and fondled and teased. Tony whimpered again, his thighs trembling, but the flogger stayed in place, the ends shivering down Tony’s ribs, each one a strand of temptation, a distraction.

“You ready to earn that collar, sweetheart?”

That got Phil a quick nod, and the flogger nearly rolled off Tony’s back before he shifted delicately under it.

Clint snatched up the handle; there was no way Tony could keep it balanced through prep and both of them climbing onto the bed. Even Clint didn’t want to set Tony up to fail. Most of the time. Sometimes Clint could be a real asshole, punishing his subs when they didn’t deserve it, maybe even _especially_ because they didn’t deserve it, but he was always super sweet in the aftercare.

He let the loose ends tease over Tony’s pink ass before setting it aside and getting the lube from their kit.

Phil scrambled onto the bed, positioning himself near Tony’s head so he could watch. Tony’s head tipped, and his nostrils flared. Trying to get the scent.

One of the best things about putting an actual mask on Tony was that Tony no longer felt the need to maintain his own facade.

When Clint lubed up his fingers and brushed his knuckles down Tony’s crack, there was no need for Tony to hide the way his mouth dropped open, the soft inhalation, the way his face let go of tension, relaxed into pleasure.

Phil made himself as comfortable as possible, laying down so that his mouth was on a level with Tony’s. Ran a finger over those lush lips, feeling the tingle of facial hair prickling over the skin on his finger. “Kiss me, baby,” Phil implored and Tony shifted. His lips missed, tongue flicked out to brush against Phil’s cheek, tracing the line blindly, trying to figure out where, exactly, he was. Phil ducked his chin, then captured Tony’s mouth.

The hot, sweet wetness of Tony’s mouth was bliss. Phil tempted Tony’s tongue out, nipped at Tony’s lip, explored and mapped out the contours of his teeth. Each give and take of the kiss was echoed in Clint’s motions from behind, rocking Tony into the kiss. Each exhale, each startled gasp, each moment that Tony stilled entirely to better concentrate on what was going on with Clint and his evil, tempting fingers.

Phil had experienced those fingers on any number of occasions and the man’s aim was as unerring in sex as it was in every other facet of Clint’s life. Tony was whining against Phil’s mouth in moments, only not begging because his mouth was full of Phil’s tongue, his lips were distracted with warm, drugging kisses.

That urgent, rhythmic whine grew stronger as Clint opened Tony up until it was near continuous keening.

Phil touched his lips to Tony’s one more time, pulled back.

Tony already looked wrecked, his lips swollen and red from kissing, lower lip protruding and wet. “Come on, come _on_ ,” he said as soon as his mouth was free to start complaining, and Phil let him, for a while. Beg and plead and whimper as Clint took his time, and was thorough and tormenting. Fingers, and then his fingers were joined by Clint’s tongue and Phil could have watched that forever. Tony’s hands jerked at the ropes that held him in place, trying to reach back. He shifted his knees, spreading himself wider to give Clint room to work.

“Oh, god,” Tony whined. He was wriggling, shifting his hips backward, shaking and trembling, mouth open as Clint worked him over.

Clint had both hands in play, the concentration on his handsome face was a joy to watch. Tony moved from begging to practically sobbing incoherently.

Phil shifted again until he was kneeling, resting on his heels. “Come on, Tony,” he urged, lifting Tony’s chin. “You ready?”

“So ready,” Tony slurred.

Phil didn’t even have to give him direction, Tony was already anticipating.

It was all Phil could do not to shout when Tony’s mouth, a slick inferno, came down over him. Messy, wet kisses were planted over Phil’s thighs, tracing their way to his groin. Tony’s tongue was like a lash, flickering licks and tastes across Phil’s cock.

Perfect, just… oh, god.

A jolt vibrated up Tony’s body as Clint finally stopped teasing him and pressed up against Tony’s hole. That moment, when Clint penetrated, was perfect to watch. Clint’s eyes were narrowed, jaw tightening as he controlled every moment, not letting Tony have anything that Clint wasn’t ready to give him.

Tony was whimpering again, the hum of it against Phil’s skin maddening.

He wanted their play to last longer, but it had been a while, and Tony had his unique skill sets. One of them was sucking a man’s brains out though his cock, and Tony was decidedly exercising his talents.

“What do you think,” Clint said, looking across Tony’s back at Phil, “you think we should let him come when we’re done, or just let him stay there while we rest up for round two?”

That was a pretty picture. They’d done that once, but it was a simpler bondage. Probably not the best idea at present, but Tony shuddered all over just at the thought.

Clint groaned, soft, and slid in, pushing until he bottomed out, then waited, letting Tony shiver and adjust. Tony’s mouth and tongue never stopped moving over Phil’s cock, sucking the head back and tonguing at the slit. Hot, wet, tight. Phil pumped his hips a few times, hearing Tony splutter and slurp.

Clint leaned in, and Phil met him halfway until they were kissing over Tony’s bowed back. Clint tasted of lube and the dark, musky flavor of Tony’s skin. One hand stayed on Tony’s hip, keeping the rhythm, slow and sensual, the other curled around the back of Phil’s neck, holding him in place while both his lovers devoured him.

A whirlwind of sensation, Tony’s mouth on him, Clint’s tongue in Phil’s mouth. Every molecule in Phil’s body stretched and folded like taffy. He was dying from it, being reshaped and reformed. His tongue met Clint’s in a torrent of sensation, until his lips were tingling with it. Each breath, each thrust made it sweeter, more erotic. Tony’s body was slick with sweat, heat baking off him, and even as Phil lost himself in Clint’s kisses, he was utterly aware of Tony beneath them.

Tony wriggled, adjusted his position, and suddenly the languid nature of their lovemaking shattered. Clint made a sound, some strangled, desperate sound, and shoved into Tony, rocking the whole formation. Phil steeled himself; it wouldn’t take much more of the way Tony was taking his cock, tongue a torment against his skin, to set him rocketing into his climax. Clint tore his mouth away from Phil’s lips to cry out against his throat.

It was overwhelming, sensation in every direction, from Tony’s warm skin under his fingers to Clint’s heated breath to the warm wetness, and then Phil was stiffening. Every nerve ending let on fire, a frayed keening noise coming out of his throat. Tony swallowed, so exquisitely incendiary that he found himself a heartbeat away from release.

And then Tony made a shivering sound and that was it. He couldn’t hold back any longer, letting the sounds carry him over the edge.

Clint had already pulled out by the time Phil found his center again, although Tony was still rubbing and rutting between them. Clint was pushing his fingers into the wet mess he’d made of Tony’s ass, keeping him stimulated and wanting, not enough to let him find a release.

“God, so good, Clint,” Tony was babbling, his chin and beard slick with Phil’s spend. “Come on, I’ve been good, I’ve… _please_ , I need it, I…”

Clint smacked him, open handed, along one cheek, eliciting a surprised yelp before Tony pushed back into it.

“You think you can come while I’m fucking you with my fingers, Tony?” Clint asked him, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, Christ, the mouth on you,” Tony hissed, his hips pumping helplessly as Clint stroked him, over and over, relentless the way he often was.

“Well, you certainly ain’t gettin my mouth on you,” Clint taunted him. He twisted his wrist and Tony cried out.

“Come on, baby,” Phil said, stroking his thumb over Tony’s well-used lip. “You can do it, I know… know you can, just like that, let Clint take you right over the edge. So gorgeous, you are, your body’s so strong and lean and the way your spine dips, it’s just beautiful. You’re our good boy, aren’t you, baby? Say it, can you say it for me?”

“Good,” Tony managed, then lifted his head. He licked his lips, opened his mouth. Phil could see the words twisting in him, harder and more painful, a deeper fire, than anyone could possibly inflict on his body. “I’m--” he swallowed. “--good boy.”

“Pretty close,” Phil said. He let Tony suck on a finger, then Clint changed his angle and Tony was wailing, nearly sobbing.

“Need it, need it,” Tony was chanting between long groans.

“Take it,” Phil encouraged him. “Go on, I know you got this, baby. Come on. Come for us, show us how much you love it.”

Tony screamed, shattering. He dipped, hips jerking helplessly and spent himself on the comforter, painting the fabric with his come.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” Clint said, patting Tony’s hip soothingly as he fingered the climax out of Tony, rubbing and stroking until Tony was trying to wriggle away, desperately overstimulated.

It didn’t take long to unhook and unsnap Tony from the rig and he collapsed, heedless of the mess of sweat and come under him. They’d have to change the sheets, but that was okay.

“What should I do now, sir?” Tony managed as Clint unlocked the wrist cuffs and threw them aside. Phil was already drowsing, hauled Tony’s arm over his hip until Tony was spooning him. Clint climbed into the bed on the other side and they squashed Tony’s lean body between them.

“Just hold me,” Phil said, hoarsely. “Keep all the pieces of me together.”

Clint’s hand twined with Tony’s fingers, resting on Phil’s hip. “We got you,” Clint promised.

Tony kissed Phil’s shoulder, wriggled around a bit until he could kiss Clint as well, before settling into the snuggle. It wouldn’t take long before they’d have to get up, get cleaned up, as the heat of their lovemaking bled off, but for the moment, Phil had his boys, and they had him, and it was the best, quietest, most comfortable Phil had been in a while.

“You two,” Tony said, drowsily, “you two are a gift, and… I just wanted to say that. A treasure.”

“Can’t buy it,” Clint said. “S’just love. It’s free, or it’s worthless.”


End file.
